


Fear and Lotho

by Andi (statsboyandi)



Series: Koran Toan [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statsboyandi/pseuds/Andi
Summary: A rough around the edges Jedi looks into a report of unusual shipments to an outer-rim water treatment facility.
Series: Koran Toan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177718





	Fear and Lotho

The air of the aging transport liner was stale and musty -- the air handlers needed replaced, maybe put a new filter in, but my guess was that the Captain of the _Laughing Dancer_ could have cared less if his passengers were mildly inconvenienced by less than perfect air conditions. He just wanted our money. Three weeks aboard this decrepit transport. At the very least there had been more than enough booze to pass the time. 

Over the intercom, the _dulcet_ tones of the computer announced we would be dropping out of hyperspaceshortly, for passengers to secure their belongings and head to the forward cabin for atmospheric landing. Or at least, that’s what I think it was saying. The universal translator seemed to struggle with whatever rough accent the computer had picked up and some words came out, well, a little strange. 

My traveling companion -- well he really wasn’t _mine_ but, you know we bonded, or at least I thought we had -- Bob, I think his name was Bob, he looked like a Bob; he was a Togrutaso, so it was likely some god forsaken mess of vowels and consonants -- and I say that as someone whose language was once described as a mixture of rough ‘yips and grunts’ so take it at face value -- anyway Bob frowned at the announcement and looked to his freshly poured ale with what I can only assume was displeasure. He was a trader hoping to turn a profit on some self-sealing stembolts a Toydarian had sold him. With enough money he could open his own shop and then bring his family from Corellia to Lotho Minor. He’d always dreamed of having his own shop. I hoped it worked out for him, but a friend of mine in the stembolt business said the market wasn’t doing well and Lotho Minor was mostly an agricultural world, pretty far off the hyperlanes.. I had relayed that to Bob, though he didn’t seem overly interested in what I had to say about his business. He just kept drinking. Maybe that was why I liked Bob. He never said anything, just looked at me, nodded and kept drinking. 

“Well Bob,” I said, taking a drag from a cigarette. “I hope you’re able to move those stembolts. Be real nice for you for your whole family to be together again.” He looked up, took another drink, and nodded. I smothered the cig against the porthole seal and stood up, heading towards my ‘cabin’ to gather my things. I’d packed light -- even by my standards. 

We circled in high orbit of Lotho Minor for at least a full hour before the captain was given permission to begin atmospheric entry. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little nervous. Bob didn’t seem affected. But he was on his third ale of the afternoon. I lit another cig as the overheads dimmed and I felt the _Laughing Dancer_ bucking against the upper atmosphere.

Lotho Minor was not exactly the place I’d envisioned to be anytime soon. After all, as far as I was concerned, my career had ended over two years ago and I certainly didn’t have plans to be going on an _adventure_ on Outer Rim anytime soon. I took another drag. I’d given these up years ago too, but something about this whole mission had me looking back to the past more than usual. 

I’ve never been terribly sentimental about my work or my past. I’ve always found that it never helped, it only made it harder to do my job. Maybe it was spending the last six months in the Core Worlds, back in the thick of things that had made me realize how much I’d really missed the work. Who knows. 

I ashed the cigarette and looked over at Bob again as we began our final approach to the spaceport. He was short, pudgy and unkempt. Space travel made him queasy, so he drank to keep from noticing. Not a bad strategy, really. Older ships like the _Laughing Dancer_ had less responsive inertial dampener fields and crappy gravitational systems. The rattling intensified as we cleared the mesosphere and the stratosphere, before leveling out in the troposphere. The spaceport came into view through the porthole. It was more or less what I expected: gray, drab and tucked along a wide rolling valley on the edge of a forest. Farms dotted the landscape around a small settlement in the distance, connected by a magtube system. 

With only a bit of a bounce, we touched down on the tarmac landing pad at the north end of the facility. After a few minutes, the _cheerful_ computer voice came over the loudspeaker once more. _Welcome to Lotho Minor Planet. You may disembark. Outsiders should check at control point to register with local authoritarians. Have good trip, and thanks for flying on Laughing Dancer._

I wondered for a moment who had been doing more drinking, me, bob or the ships computer before shuffling towards the hatch at the far end of the forward compartment. I passed through the gangway connecting us to the terminal -- I hate those things -- overly quick and found myself in the near deserted terminal of the Lotho Minor spaceport. The place was late Republic colony to the tee -- drab green and grey flooring, walls and furniture; a smallish waiting area where a mother and three small bratlings waited with a suitcase each; a people-mover lazily crawled towards the main concourse; and an alcove across the way with a large, chrome Republic signet emblazoned above. That had to be the “control point” the announcement indicated. I headed that way. 

Sitting at the counter were two youngish humans in drab tunics. I smiled at the first one, a young male that looked to be in his late or early twenties, before doing the same to the second -- an even younger looking male. “Hello, I believe I need to register with the local authoritarians.”

The elder of the two glanced up to me with a half-frown, looking me over. I was likely the first Domoran he’d ever seen. Humans, as anyone knows, barely tolerate other humanoids, let alone a vaguely dog looking dude with ears, fangs and claws. I handed him my travel papers, which indicated that I was a civilian contractor working for the planetary government to inspect their water recycling systems. He looked them over, and after a moment, stamped an approval. 

“Welcome to Lotha Minor,” he said. “The flitter port is on the right off the tram, the shuttle to the colonial settlement is on your left.”

I nodded and headed towards the tram. Flitters were small atmospheric shuttles. I hate flying. I hate flying in small shuttles even more. Leave flying the the droids, I say. The tram took a little longer, but at least I didn’t have to fly in some rap-trap 50 year-old Republic piece of crap. The tram stopped only once before depositing me near the center of the settlement I’d seen coming in, where I was scheduled to meet my contact -- an operative code named _Civet_. 

I made my way to the small inn where I’d arranged for a room. I had no idea what it’s attempt at a human pun meant, and frankly I didn’t and don’t care. It was a dumpy, three story building along the main drag whose only unique features were the balconies on the second and third floor. The young woman at the reception desk looked at me with the same half-frown that the customs officer had earlier. I have always suspected that half-frown to be the warmest greeting most humans were capable of providing to aliens that didn’t involve a blaster. 

“Good afternoon,” she said, pointedly deciding not to attempt to pronounce my name. “Your room is on the third floor, number 314. If you need anything, please feel free to call.”

The room was, at least, clean. I threw my shoulder bag onto the bed and looked around. There was a small sink, sonic shower and head tucked into the corner near the entrance. The bed looked uncomfortable. And everything was drab and olive. Say that for the Republic, even out here on the ass end of their space, they were on brand. 

A knock came at the door. How hadn’t I heard him coming? I opened my bag for the Hemsworth Model 9 blaster -- a real classic if you ask me -- I’d brought with me and rocked the powerpack into place. I flipped off the safety. The knock came a second time. “Hey,” a voice came, “Are you going to leave me out here the whole time? I know you’re there.”

 _Dear gods above,_ I said softly to myself, tucking the blaster into my belt behind my back. “Yeah, I am here Civet.” 

I opened the door. My contact was standing there, looking like a complete idiot. “What’s a civet?” 

“It's your codename. Didn’t they brief you on anything?”

“They did,” Civet said as I ushered him inside, looking around before closing the door and locking it behind him. “But we didn’t know what a civet was, really. We just assumed it was a Jedi thing.”

“No wonder no one ever hears of the _exploits_ of Republic Intelligence” I said lowly. Civet either didn’t catch it or chose not to because he was too busy fiddling with a briefcase he’d laid on the bed. 

He was younger than I’d expected ok, barely older than the customs worker who’d checked me in earlier, but he was taller and thinner. He wore his jet black hair in an overly regimented military crop that felt oppressively ubiquitous. Still, there was something intriguing about him. 

I decided to make myself a drink from the minibar. One of the few things I continue to respect about the Outer Rim worlds is they never gave into the idea of synthetic booze, and even better they like their shit strong. None of that watered down synthetic shit you get on in the Core Worlds these days. Hell, last time I was on Canto Bight, most of the booze was synthe. Fucking shameful if you ask me. 

Being honest I guessed at what sort of drink I was making based on the smell. I certainly couldn’t read the labels -- which I think were written in Hutt -- and I wasn’t about to ask Civet for help making my drink. By the time I was done making what I am calling a Lotha Iced Tea, he’d managed to open the briefcase and layout a handful of data padds, looking at me expectantly. 

“You know they charge for that?”

“I’ll be sure to put it on my expense account.” Civet blinked multiple times, before I waved him off. “So what do you have for me?”

Seemingly happy to move on, he handed me one of the pads. “This is a diagram of the Lotha water treatment facility.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Civet,” I said looking through the information. “How is it the someone can keep funneling resources into this -- uh -- low priority location without anyone noticing? Like they’ve got a fuckin’ shield generator emplacement that I am pretty sure could withstand a direct hit from space and nobody says word one?”

Civet frowned. “We obviously noticed.” I think I hurt his feelings. “Why do you think you’re here? It’s just -- it's complicated. The local Republic governors are given a pretty free hand here in the Outer Rim. It’s not the core worlds you know.” 

I tried to conceal a guffaw. That was a goddamn understatement worthy of a droid. A free fucking hand? Jesus man. I decided not to point that out to Civet, nodding along instead as he went on to explain that the local authorities had almost certainly been put on the payroll of the one of the trade guilds and weren’t to be trusted. 

Of course I already knew most of that, but Civet was young and eager. I let him prattle on for a good twenty minutes or so while I enjoyed the Lotha Iced Tea. A cool breeze blew in from the balcony. It had been a long time since I’d been in the field like this -- really not since the Yinchorri Uprising, and I wondered again how I ended up here. 

It was a Tuesday I think -- or was it a Thursday? Who can tell really. Anyway the council, in their infinite wisdom, had seen fit to return me to active duty. It was only supposed to have been temporary. That was the deal. I did something for them and in return I -- well I didn’t get much of anything. No one ever said I was a good negotiator, certainly would have made a shitty Counselor. Fate of course, had different plans and now the Council didn’t know what to do with me.

So as I said -- it was a Tuesday -- and I am sitting in this little office in Coruscant where they’d airdropped me while they decided what exactly to do with me. Imagine me in a desk job. Yeah it was kind of worse than if they’d just cut me loose again. 

It was some kind of thing I didn’t care about -- some regional intel office looking at uh ... the Kalaida sector or something. Maybe it was the Gamon. I don’t know. I honestly just sort of showed up at 9 and clocked out at 5 and pretended to be their new boss. Some kid tried to get in good with me and show off with some fancy new report on some kind of cross-national crime syndicate running guns or something. Like I gave a shit about that. I passed the report on though and pretended to be impressed. It was pretty amature work. Honestly, I wouldn’t have accepted it if this were the old days,, but hell this wasn’t my circus. 

I’d came in like always, got my coffee, liquored it up and retreated to my office to pretend to read the drivel these kids churned out. It’s no wonder nothing ever gets done in the core worlds. Everyone’s too busy writing and reading reports to actually do anything. No really. If I had bothered to actually read all that shit I would have never gotten anything else done. Okay I didn’t really get anything done, but that’s -- that’s not the point. 

Having just managed to get through the first batch of morning reports and my coffee, the reception desk called. _Master Covan, Master Covan_ \-- yes they gave me a pathetic cover name -- _I have someone from the Temple here to see you._

_Fuck me._ “Send them in.”

To be honest I didn’t know which particular brand of asshole I was about to deal with -- my first thought was that someone had actually taken the kid’s report seriously and now I was going to have to do something about it -- but thankfully it wasn’t that. Not sure if, in retrospect, that would have actually be better than who it actually turned out to be. 

_Koran old pal. How y’a holding up champ?_

God I hate that kind of dude you know? I am not your pal. Or buddy. Or whatever. And god it’s worse when you got fuckin’ dog ears. 

I should have just told him to fuck off. But I didn’t. I never do. Man, I could be on the council by now if I could, but I can’t -- anyway. So Happypants Goody-two-shoes starts in on this whole bit. I wish you were there, because I am not sure if I can actually get this intonation down, but I’ll try.

“Our intelligence resources in Outer Rim, as you know, are always stretched a bit thin. So we’ve been working a lot closer with Republic Intelligence. They’re the --”

At that point I really should have just told him to get out. Come on dude. I’ve been in the clandestine services of the Jedi Council for like thirty years at this point. I know who the hell Republic Intelligence is, gods almighty. So, yeah after Happypants gets done talking to me like I’m so doe-eyed Padawan, he gets to the good stuff. And by the good stuff, I mean the part where I _really_ should have told him to leave. 

“For months now they’ve been tracking a number of unusual shipments to the outer rim colonies. Sometimes they’re listed as advanced medical equipment, but they’re sent to planets that don’t have those sort of facilities. Others are heavy equipment being moved in to do ‘development.’ Others are just random nonsense.”

I stroked my non-existent beard thoughtfully. I’d actually read about this, a little. One of my minions had been working on a report from our agents in the Naboo Trade Bureau, but for effect I nodded seriously and let him continue. 

“Our friends in the Republic Intelligence,” Happypants continued, “they’re afraid to poke the hornet's nest too much though. They think that maybe one of the big criminal syndicates is involved but...”

I hoped he wasn’t going to try to tell me who they were. Thankfully, he didn’t. I might have actually told him off if he had. 

“So, they’ve asked us if we could... assist in looking into this a little more. The Council agrees that it would be in our interests to find out what if anything the syndicates are up to.”

And then one thing led to the next and here I am. Drinking Lotha Iced Tea in some Republic Motel 6 listening to a guy named Civet prattle on about water treatment facilities. 

“Are you listening?”

I glanced over to Civet. “Of course I am.”

He looked at me, doubtfully. “The local authorities are being bought off to look the other way, while one of the syndicates bring in all kinds of crap labeled in such a way as not to be too suspicious. They’ve said they’re expanding operations at the facility to include energy production, but no one buys that but you can’t prove anything. The head hancho is some wicked witch of the west type. What did you say her name was? Savu something or other.”

Clearly disappointed that I actually had been paying attention, Civet frowned deeply. It was almost cute honestly, and if I were a few more Lotha Teas in, I might have done something about it. Instead, I shot him a fangy grin that clearly unsettled him.

“The director’s cover name is Ghasile Loranik, but we’ve positively identified her as the Falleen noble, Savu Nadarik.”

I almost spit my drink out. What were the odds? No really. What deity had I pissed off? I glanced over to Civet and asked him to say that again. He blinked but eventually did. “Fuck man. What is it with me and that fucking family.”

“You’ve had dealings with them?”

I sighed and explained that yes, I, unfortunately, had crossed paths with her brothers not that long ago. I decided not to mention my involvement with her mother. He seemed genuinely sympathetic. I guess they have something of a reputation. Can’t fuckin’ imagine why. Oh right it’s because they’re nothing but fucking trouble. And I say that as someone who has made a career of being fucking trouble. The force, wasn’t fucking with me on this one. 

Anyway, so yeah. Turns out snot nosed brat and arrogant fuckwad have a sister who’s likely Black Sun as well. Real fucking lovely family I tell you. I sighed and made another drink. My people had a saying -- you either die a hero, or live long enough to wish you had. I almost certainly am on the second half of that equation now. 

Civet eventually fucked off after I agreed to finish going over all the material he brought (I lied), and we planned to meet in the hotel lobby at some ungodly hour in the morning to head out to the water treatment facility to check it out. Later we’d formally visit the facility using my cover as a Republic official. It was all very common shit. 

I was late to our morning meet up. Civet was annoyed. It didn’t take Jedi intuition to pick up on that. He was frowning deeply as I meandered down the stairs and sampled the complimentary breakfast. “Lead the way,” I said between bites of pastry.

Civet, still frowning, shook his head and motioned for me to follow. “Are you really a Jedi?” he asked when we were in his rented speeder. 

Laughing, I knocked the crumbs off my jacket. “They tell me so.”

“Certainly not like any Jedi I’ve ever met.” He’d said it so lowly that most humans wouldn’t have been able to make it out, but you know I ain’t a human. 

“Well no,” I replied to his obvious surprise. “Most Jedi are boring, cloistered sociopaths. I mean we’re all sociopaths -- something about being taken away from our families to be raised in seclusion by a fanatical religious order -- but most of them are like, well you’re practically interesting comparatively. Where as I --”

“Are more like some merc scum you’d find in a bar in the outer rims.”

I smiled. “I take that as a compliment.”

The rest of the ride went in pretty much silence. Civet wasn’t one for small talk. I tried to coax out of him where he was from -- I could guess based on the slight accent, but it’s always more fun to get them to tell you. He wasn’t up for it though. He just kept driving the speeder. I assume it was from a rental place. It was one of those new economy models designed so anyone could afford one, even on the meager salary of dock worker in the Outer Rims. That meant it was cheap, and not just in price. Plastic panels everywhere. Faux leather seats. Just the cheapest shit. 

“This all they have at Hertz?”

Civet looked over bewildered. “What?”

I told him to never mind and went back to my coffee as we turned off the main road and began meandering through the countryside till we came to a ridge overlooking the place. From the outside, nothing looked too out of place. Even with binocs, I didn’t see anything unusual. I mean, it was hilariously large for a water treatment facility on a backwater world with two settlements that were larger than a small village, but other than that, perfectly normal. 

“What do you think?” Civet said, he was nervous. 

“Looks like a big water treatment facility, but --” I paused. “That’s definitely a shield generator. Kuat, DSS model I think.”

Civet looked as well. “According to the official blueprints, it’s a power convertor.” 

“And I am Yoda. No that's a shield generator alright. When’s the next off-world shipment supposed to come in?”

“Two days from now.”

“Good. I want to examine that cargo before they take it inside.”

“That won’t be easy. I am not sure your cover is enough to...”

“I might be a scoundrel, but I am a Jedi. You leave that part to me, just get me info for where its coming on planet and when, okay Civet?”

We spent the next two days casing the joint. I also took the grand tour of the facility. If I’d been unsure something was up before, I knew it afterwards. Normally, a shitty place like this getting a visit from an official from Coruscant would be _the_ opportunity of everyone involved’s career. Like, if you’re some shithead running a water treatment plant in the backwater and some fucker from the core worlds shows up, you want to do everything in your power (including bribing them) to get a ticket out. Nadarik, though, acted like I was some inconvenience sent from on high. 

“Thank you for taking an interest in our facility,” she said in a voice that reminded me a little too much of her brothers’ before speed walking me through it at a pace nearing that of a smuggler working a customs check. At one point, I tried to stall her so Civet could get some photos, but she wasn’t having it. 

I asked her if she’d like to catch a drink, maybe something to eat later and we could talk about the uh, new scubbers they were installing. She just looked at me and snarled. Imagine that! Handsome guy like me, out here on the ass-end of the galaxy asking you for dinner and you turn him down. Not that I was that interested in her, mind you. It just, the principle.

So surer than ever that something was up with this whole scheme, I made arrangements to inspect the cargo. And by arrangements, I mean Jedi-Mind-Tricked Civet and I into the hanger where the shipments were being delivered. 

“Wait,” Civet said incredulously as we walked toward the hanger. “Why don’t you just do that to Nadarik?”

“It only works on the weak minded.”

“Isn’t that like -- taking advantage of them?”

“Yes?”

He just looked at me. 

“I thought we covered this already. Jedi are all sociopathic assholes. I just happen to have better social skills than most.”

He didn’t seem convinced. We kept walking. The supplies were being held for pick-up by the water treatment folks in bay three. I was actually surprised there were three bays, to be honest. To the surprise of maybe Civet, but certainly not me, there were two lunking Gamorreans standing outside. Seriously folks. I know they are strong, but stop hiring them for this kind of role! Get. Droids.

After hand waving my way past those two morons, Civet and I found the containers. Some of it was your usual stuff. Things you’d expect for a water treatment facility. You know, the usual. I mean don’t actually know what you’d expect, but use your imagination. We’d kept going through them until I felt the hairs on the back of my ears start to tingle. 

“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind Civet and I. “What are you two doing, this is--”

I turned to see a Republic customs agent holding a blaster riffle. You know, there are times where being a Sith would make things so much easier. But nooooooo.

Civet, dumb ass that was, looks to me for guidance. I waved my hand. “Nothing to see here Ted, just go back to your business.”

Ted blinked. Fuck me. He was tall, handsome and decidedly did not deserve to be stuck on this shithole, as evidence by not being affected by the ole hand wave. At this point I was thinking about just force throwing him into a wall and running off, but Civet, shockingly, came up with a good response.

“Sorry, Ted, this Kazan Nadri, he’s an inspector for the Senate Committee on Trade in the Outer Rim, conducting an investigation into smuggling.”

Ted lifted his brows. “I see,” not fully convinced. “I’ll need to see your identification.”

“Of course, it’s right here.” Then he shot him with a stun gun. Didn’t think he had it in him.

“Good work.”

Civet grinned. “He’ll be out for a bit, but we shouldn’t stick around too much longer.”

I agreed but I wanted to take a look at one more set of crates. Good thing we did. There wasn’t anything actually worth writing home about, or at least no smoking blaster pistol, but there were an unusually large amount of parts for bio-stasis tanks. Why the hell would they need those at a water treatment facility? Fuck if I knew, but it was certainly odd.

Given we needed to get out of there before Ted woke back up, we downloaded the rest of the manifest and headed back to the Hilton. Civet was pacing around the room while I made a drink. He wasn’t anymore sure about what they were upto than I was, but we both knew that it was nothing good.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What would a criminal syndicate do with stasis units.”

“There’s always trafficking, but this seems a little much for that. And you can just put them in carbonite, way easier, cheaper and efficient.”

He was, I think, a little shocked at my nonchalant attitude, but when you’ve been in this business as along as I have, you know it takes a lot to really upset me. Anyway, this was certainly a mystery. I know what you’re thinking, as Jedi I shouldn’t I have some intuition about this? Well yes, and I did. _Something_ was fucking up. But what? Well...

So the next day Civet met me at the coffee shop in the lobby again. Well I think it was coffee. I mean I was liquoring it up, so it didn’t really matter. What was next? Civet asked. 

I could just do the Jedi thing and bust in there and make a mess. The direct approach certainly has its benefits, but do you have any idea the amount of paperwork the Republic makes you fill out for that kind of mess? And I fucking hate paperwork. Not to mention, the last time I did that I ended up in that fucking desk job, so I thought I’d play it by the books. I think that surprised Civet, honestly. 

The plan was to meet with the planetary administrator. Civet arranged the whole thing, and by afternoon we were in his office. It was, as I expected, exactly what you’re thinking. A dumpster of a building near the “city” “center.” Late Republican pre-fab, dreary in every sense of the word. His office was on the top floor -- I am sure he was real proud of that shit -- and had a view of the rolling hills that surrounded the city. 

I’d be lying if I told you I was shocked to find the administrator was a fat, balding fuckwit of a human squeezed into a poorly tailored suit. Like, man. If you just imagined the type of central casting character picked for this role, he’d be it. And true to type, his office had several chenzy medals and awards plastered on the wall. There was even a picture of him shaking hands with some dumb ass low level administrator from the Senate. Real shitty kid drawings on the fridge vibes. He was also wearing bad cologne and had a knock off watch that I am sure he thought was real. 

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Civet said in a practiced, polite voice as we sat down in uncomfortable chairs that sat opposite the fat assholes desk. “I know how busy you must be.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but smiled through it. 

“Of course,” the fatass -- Tobo Voss was his actual name, which fucking eh, right? Tobo Fucking Voss? -- said. “If I’d known we had such an important guest, I would have --” I am just going to stop right here to point out what I was saying earlier. This guy might have barely had the braincells of like a bantha, but he intuitively knew I could be his ticket to some new, slightly better dumpster of a planet. This was a guy I could work with. See, it’s the true believers and sociopaths you have to worry about. Guys like this? They have a price and you just have to find it. 

So Tobo continued on for a few minutes apologizing for not knowing I was on the planet and offering to get me a better hotel during my stay. Nice gesture, really. Man was definitely someone who could have worked his way up the greasy ladder honestly. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t want to be on this shithole much longer than I had to. I looked over to Civet before talking. 

“Look, Toby,” I said, “I am not going to lead you on with some big show. I just don’t have time or the energy for it. I am not just some dipshit from the core worlds out here to look at your water treatment plant.”

I am not sure who was more taken back, Civet or Tobo, but they both had the same dumb look on their faces so I continued. I took out a smoke at this point before continuing. “So let’s just cut right to it, shall we? I am a Jedi. Civet here is with Republic Security. We know that you’re on the payroll for Savu Nadarik -- or whatever she’s told you her name is. I am going to be generous and assume that you have no fucking clue what she’s upto. You might not even have known until now what her real name is and that she’s Black Sun.”

Judging by the color fading from his face, I guessed right. Civet was also staring at me, like I’d grown three horns or something. The look alone almost made this whole charade worth it, honestly. 

“The B-black Sun?” Toby finally managed. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, she’s Black Sun. I mean she’s Falleen, you surely didn’t think she was on the up and up?”

Civet started to protest my sweeping, possibly racist generalization of the Falleen. Which, fair. But man I have never fucking once encountered one of those green skinned assholes who wasn’t upto some kind of shady shit. He apparently decided against it and just sat there staring at me. Toby was despondent. 

“Look, I don’t care you were taking a bribe. I get it.”

He looked up. “I-”

“What part of Jedi did you miss Toby?”

His face somehow went whiter than a Abruzzian Moonbat.

“Like I said,” I took another drag and made sure to blow the smoke in his face. Real dramatic like. Don’t fucking look at me like that. It was less harmful to him than if I’d whipped out the light saber, and probably more effective! Anyway. So I made him tell me everything. As I suspected, he didn’t know what they were actually upto. They paid him to look the other way, and that was exactly what he did. Smarter than I originally thought, to be honest. 

Toby swallowed hard. What did I want him to do? Now we were getting somewhere. I had a plan. Not a good one, mind you, but a plan. I wouldn’t ever say anything I came up with was a good idea, you know. Anyway -- I explained everything in detail and Toby, after some additional muttering agreed. Civet and I would head off, I said, but he should contact the hotel to let us know when things were arranged. 

We made our way back. Civet pouted the whole time. 

“The hell are you thinking?” He wanted to say it, but of course, Civet was way too much of a goody-goody to actually say it. I looked at him and smirked.

“Look,” I said. “This our best chance to figure this mess out with a minimum of complications.”

“A minimum of complications?” He did say that. Real bewildered. 

I laughed. “It's a relative term.”

He wasn’t convinced. 

We continued on back to the hotel without any more words. My plan might not have been great, but it was simple. In my experience, the more complicated you make something like this, the more chances it all blows the fuck up. I am, contrary to popular opinion among the council, not actually a big fan of that kind of mess. Keep It Simple Stupid, I always tell my padwans. Granted, my last padawan was -- well that's another story. ANYWAY. Back to the topic at hand. 

Like I said it was simple. Toby would tell Savu that there was a Jedi poking around the city asking for information about the facility and that he approached Toby for information. Toby would say he didn’t give him anything, but that the Jedi wasn’t convinced. He would then tell her I planned to infiltrate the base by smuggling myself in with one of the latest shipments of equipment. 

We had enough time to shit, shower and shave back at the Motel 6 before Toby called. Actually I didn’t shave. I had a strong drink and a nap, but you know same principle. Civet paced the whole time. This, he said, was never going to work. They’d capture us! They won’t fall for it! What if they just kill Toby and run off! Man’s a real worrier I tell you. So I took advantage of being a Jedi and told him that the Force was with us and that I had a good feeling about it. That seemed to settle him down a little. I don’t know why, honestly. I was absolutely lying. 

Toby called. They took the bait. He was going to start planning his exit, but before that, he made sure to get us access into the port so we could sneak into the shipment. Honestly I half expected to arrive in the cargo hold to find Savu waiting on us, but we pulled that part of the plan off without much effort. I squeezed into some cargo box with some cybernetic shit. It was a tight fit, but I’ve been in tighter places. Civet meanwhile dressed up as a guard. (Because no one ever sees that one coming, right?)

I am going to have to remind myself not to travel by cargo container again. This is at least the fourth or fifth time I’ve done it, and man is it bad for the back. Like they just jostle that shit around. To say nothing of all the shit _in_ the cargo container with you. Man its a bumpy ride. So we get to the facility and I am in desperate need of another drink but, on duty. 

This is when I knew the plan had gone off the rails. I’d rather planned to make a dramatic entrance when they started opening the crates to search for me, but instead -- they just dumped the crates off in the facility’s cargo hold for processing. What the hell? 

Slowly, I put my head out. Nothing? I slipped out of the container and started looking for Civet. He wasn’t around. That couldn’t be good either. Lovely. There were a few workers nearby, chatting about the weather. I crept around quietly, trying to get my bearings. Toby had gotten us a copy of the facility layout that included all the “additions” they made. I looked around for some clue as to where I was. 

Luckily for me, there was a nice big B5 painted on the wall. I’ve got to say, it’s nice of people to put identifying marks like that up. Otherwise I would have had to risk accessing a terminal or something. Anyway, I knew from the plans that there was a control center a few decks up. Something told me that Savu would be there. Yeah, yeah it was the Force. Whatever. 

Stealthily, I worked my way past the workers in the cargo hold. I didn’t want to chance running into someone in the hallways. Also, extremely glad that people build person sized air shafts. Though what they don’t tell you is how fucking cold those things are. It’s like sliding into a damn freezer. I thought I was gonna be a piece of carbonite by the time I got to the top.

The air shaft dropped me off in a lab of some sort. There was some pretty gruesome shit going on. Real mad scientist stuff. Body parts just hanging out in a bacta tank, dissected (I hope they were dead when they were opened up anyway) corpses on tables, and a wall full of corpses in cold storage. I didn’t have a lot of time to poke around, but what did strike me was that all the dead bodies seemed to be cyborgs. 

Which brought back my earlier question. How in the fuck was a criminal syndicate like Black Sun involved in something like this? Like trafficking? Absolutely. Black market cybernetics? Hell yes. This nazi experiment shit? I don’t know. Even the kind of weird shit her older brother is into made more sense than this. I was curious, but also deeply troubled. And yes, it was a “deeply troubled” force thing. I don’t know how to describe it to a mundane, to be honest. Just this inescapable feeling that something really bad is going to happen or happening. I wanted to find out more. There was an open terminal at the end of the room, but that screamed TRAP, so I kept walking instead. 

Now I know I said earlier that people need to stop hiring Gamorians for guards, and I stand by that 100 percent, but just this once I would have preferred that. Savu Nadarik though, isn’t an idiot. That at least runs in the family. In the next room there were two KW-series security droids. Not all security droids are made equal, but the KW-series are some of the best money can buy. They’re fast, strong and deadly. Not assassin droid deadly, but they’ll get the job done. 

The droids informed me I was in a restricted area, did I have permission? What kind of fucking question is that? I didn’t have time for this bullshit so it was slicy-dicy with the lightsaber time. Just for reference, if you don’t have a lightsaber, those things can shrug off most blasters so your best bet is to not fuck with them. Anyway, so after _decommissioning_ the two droids I kept moving. There was another lab with even more mad scientist shit. 

I’ve seen some shit in my time. Shit you wouldn’t believe, but this was some real grade-a fucked shit. Which I know I already said, but man -- just thinking about it again gives me the heebie-jeebies. Continuing to resist the urge to tap into one of the open terminals, I kept moving. There was a long corridor that connected the final lab to the control center. Normally, this is where you’d have some showdown with a sub-boss or something, but Savu wasn’t corny. Approaching the door, I was a little shocked when it just opened. No need to hotwire it or shoot my way in.

Waiting for me was Savu Nadarik. Tall, green skinned and as deadly as she was attractive. The flashing console lights reflected in her golden eyes. They flashed with a darkness I hadn’t felt from her brothers. Her long black hair fell gently across her shoulders. 

“Koran Toan,” her voice was as icy as the air vent had been. And I gotta say, I was more than a little surprised she knew who I was. I certainly hadn’t told Toby, But I knew better than to act surprised so I did the only thing you can do when a villain dramatically says your name in the encounter. 

“Savu Nadarik.” I gave her the best _I-am-a-serious-Jedi_ look I could muster and drew my lightsaber. 

“I’ve heard so much about you from my brothers,” she said. Now I should probably tell you that my last encounter with her two brothers did not go well for anyone involved. I mean we all have our body parts intact, but let’s just say I won’t be getting a Christmas card. I have to admit I was pretty surprised by how calm she seemed about a fucking Jedi rolling into her base. Even her dipshit brothers showed a modicum of concern. 

“If I didn’t know better,” she continued, “I would say you had an unhealthy obsession with my family.”

I spouted off a witty response. Jedi are supposed to be good at that. They train you to have them ready during your padawan days. No seriously. There’s a whole class on it. Don’t look at me like that. I am serious. Anyway -- so after we got the witty banter out of the way, I did the whole dramatic “the jig is up.”

She just laughed. That was when I spotted the sword dangling from her hip. She wasn’t dumb enough to fight me was she? I gave her another chance. “Republic Security is already on its way. You surely don’t think you can fight a Jedi.”

Her laugh turned mirthless as she unsheathed her sword. There was an unholy look in her eyes. It was vibrosteel -- one of the few things that can block a lightsaber. 

“I could,” she said calmly, “hold you for a time. I have been well trained, but I am really not as stupid as my brothers.”

Ah, there was the other shoe. It’s always fucking something. I watched as, on command, the blast coverings on the windows of the control room parted, revealing a large assembly room -- or in this case a disassembly room. It was now clearer where the mad science shit was coming from, as a conveyer belt fed cybernetic corpses into vats of acid. It didn’t take long for her twisted Sophie's choice to also become clear, either. She smiled and pointed to civet, tied down on one of the belts.

One day, I swear, I am not going to end up in one of these melodramatic plot devices. I fucking swear. But that day wasn’t then. I growled at her. 

“So, what will it be Koran? You can capture me _or_ you can save your little friend?”

“That’s a hell of a gambit. Especially since you apparently know so much about me.”

Again she just chuckled. “I do know you, and I know that for all your bluster you’re still a Jedi. Weak, compassionate. Unable to let your innocent little side-kick get melted in a vat of acid.”

I hated that she was right. “This isn’t over,” I said angrily.

She just smirked. “You better get going.


End file.
